BEHOLD A PALE HORSE
Recall-quietly-the-hazy-days-where-I-didn’t-know-poisonous-­berries-from-safe-ones.....
I hazarded a climb up the tallest tree
the ascent was genuflected as I recall.
The grove was perfect in its equanimity,
forcing my gaze to rest upon a single silver stallion.
For hours I watched

Oh, Primeval Traveler,
with your triumphant mane, silvered across horizon
echoing the lunar eclipse in your brilliance,
your muscles reminiscent of an anti-apocryphal steed
It’s flow showed the authenticity of nature
Here life proudly declared
Movement & Peace
And each of it’s components perfectly crafted in the Cosmic Forge
Look how its luminescent power survives the darkness
I thought this until a neural feedback loop formed,

“This is the beast that would have pulled Arjuna forth unto battle
As Krishna directed him in his dharma as a secondary event
to the arrival of natural perfection.”

As the day past to night,
the night brought forth darkness
And in the darkness I recognized a primal need of my own.
To evacuate all of the grunginess I felt brewing within my body.
I resolved the anguish in a moment of perfection.
A loss of self catalyzed through the release of wasted being
And I recall that as I came back into my being
the horse who had been so distant and yet so near
the one who I had borne divine witness to
galloped full stride in the trajectory of my lofty dwelling
As it passed under me
It......s.tum.-b.led-------->(^)ooooo,,,o,o,o,o,o,o,o,o,oo,0.

Through the most polluted of rancid berry waste I have ever let go of.
Its mane plastered to its leathery skin by my own liquid adhesive
It lay there
dying and breathless
among the wasteland, which came so inevitably from my bowels
now a haven for insects nestled and rotten, a temple of the naturally begotten child of life named “death,”
Or rather an impromptu and particularly gothic grave of a God who has received no worship and is now forgotten.